


Lust Never Dies

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Category: Dead Rising
Genre: (Because of Dylan), BDSM, Comedy, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinda, Kinky, Leather Kink, M/M, Other tags to be added, Painplay, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual Slavery, Texting, Violence, Whipping, Zombie Apocalypse, but not seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-09-23 03:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: There’s this trope in fiction that if you don’t see a body all maimed and bloody, there’s at least a chance that the character is still alive.Therefore, when you hear that Dylan Fuentes is not 100% confirmed dead, you decide that you should at least try to save him.Could you have honestly thought of a worse idea.





	1. With The Best of Intentions...

**Author's Note:**

> *I, the idiot author, am sitting in a red plush chair, wearing a casual red robe with overly tight knee socks and fluffy slippers. Behind me is the classic comfy library type environment with a cosy fire crackling along.* *sips tea* so. Never thought I’d ever sink this low. A character from a video game that I’ve never even played, that is literally a psychopathic, hyper-sexuality-suffering, highly violent, gimpy cowboy stripper who has almost certainly raped at least the survivors we rescue from his lair. And here I am with a smut fic that might even be multi-parted. I must confess, I saw him in this gaming countdown of weirdest weaknesses and got so inexplicably hooked to him that I’ve listened to a whole menagerie of his quotes over and over. I happened to notice that there were a whole four fics about him here on ao3, and maybe 6 fics about him if you squint. This cannot do. This is literally why I wanted to start writing fanfics in the first place. To bring into the world what was not there, especially when it comes to fun smut. Because I haven’t played the game, and I really don’t have time to watch a full walk through, you’re going to have to work with me on the inconsistencies between this and the real game. I’ve done my best to get what I think is necessary to make this as accurate to the lot of Dead Rising 3 as I can, but no doubt I’ll mess up. I do think it would be fun to play the game one day, but I’ve been buying way too many games recently for me to feel comfortable doing that *my paypal still weeps over the $20 I spend on motherfucking Crush Crush because I had a moment of weakness*. Also just fyi I feel this one is a bit rough since I haven’t been seriously writing for like nearly the whole summer and I’m a little rusty + cause I am not as familiar with the source material I’m a bit more scattered than usual. My apologizes.
> 
> With that said, if you feel any sort of concern with this fanfiction that isn’t me slowly losing my mind, please read the disclaimer below wherein which I give my thoughts about the content found within.  
The purpose of this fanfiction is not to glorify, accept, or in anyway say that rape is ok. It’s not. In my opinion, it’s one of the cruelest acts one human can perform upon another. If the mention of that subject, in any form, bothers you, then I have to respectfully ask you to not read this one. Please, I know from personal experience that sometimes you just shouldn’t risk reading something if you know that the subject matter really upsets you. Please, be kind to yourself, and don’t put yourself in a situation that you know can only end poorly. 
> 
> This is meant to be a fantasy exploration of certain kinks, characters, and scenarios. I have done my best to have fun with it while also being respectful. There is no attempt to make the reader suffer, the acts carried out in this are meant to be fun, sexy, and exciting. I am personally really really really not into it if a character is truly being non-conned, I just can’t enjoy it if the characters aren’t, so I’ve attempted to do just that. However I am into that kind of rough, no questions asked, forceful kind of sexual activity, so that’s what I’m more leaning into.  
Remember, the things within this are a fantasy, they really don’t carry over well to real life, and you almost certainly should only do the sexual activities in here with a trusted partner, safe words, and a deep understanding of the others needs, wants, and boundaries. This is merely a bit of smut meant to be titillating, not a direction for how to carry out bdsm type activities. I do not have the authority to say how and how not to truly do those kinds of acts, so I won’t attempt to. This is meant to be fun, not serious.  
With that out of the way, please enjoy (or if you don’t feel comfortable with this, please exit).
> 
> For updates on stories, sneak peaks, and occasionally fanart please check me out at [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, feedback and critique is especially important to me, so if you have any please let me know so I can continue to improve.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.  


“So what you’re saying is, you couldn’t tell how he died?” You grilled him, gently cleaning your trusty zombie-slaying weapon.

“Well,” Nick kneaded his hands together as he did everything to not meet you directly in the eyes, “there was a lot of blood on the floor when the fight was done.”

You sighed to yourself and sat back in your shitty little dining chair. Although this part of California may have been in a state of complete panic, that didn’t necessarily mean that you couldn’t stop for a quick meal. It was a nice little restaurant: serving the kinds of things that don’t go bad after a few days of pure chaos. Did that mean the food was healthy? The dirty walls, ceiling, floors, chairs, tables, and everything else suggested no, but damn, you were hungry. You took the silence to bite into the scrumptious few-day-old burger you were currently trying to fill your stomach with. The other survivors tried to pretend like they weren’t watching their savior and some fucking gremlin argue over a psychopath.

“Yes, but was any of that on _ him _?”

“Well… no, but--”

“And did he have any wounds?”

“I-no, but--,”

“And you’re saying that he merely collapsed?”

Nick sighed, “Technically yes but--”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance that he’s still alive?”

“Gah!” Nick threw his hands up into the air, fuming away from you, “YES. There is a CHANCE that the psychopath is still alive!”

You chuckled to yourself. There was a saying that says you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you (or in this case the hand that saved you from a bunch of zombies), but there’s nothing that says you shouldn’t bother them. It had been the simple want for a vacation that brought you to Los Perdidos, but you stayed for the complete lack of airplanes and surplus of zombies. You would have been staying a lot longer if Nick hadn’t found and saved you from the city’s hungry inhabitants. Since then, you had been working with the other survivors to try and stay alive, occasionally helping Nick with his missions, and trying to keep your spirits at least somewhat up in the face of all this destruction. Although that may have appeared to be what you were doing, you weren’t quite that low.

“Don’t you think we should at least try to save him?” You said, shyness and a helping of self awareness clutching at your voice. Nick turned to you with this doe-eyed, open-mouthed face that just screamed, _ Have you finally lost your goddamned mind? _ There’s a long pause as the two of you stared at each other, only broken by the cough of one of the other survivors.

A bead of sweat made it along his forehead as memories flooded his mind, “I’m not going to try and rescue that… monster.” Nick shook his head and stood up straight at the disappointed and slightly shocked look in your eye, “Besides, we only have a few days until the bomb drops, I can’t go on wild goose chases for people who are probably dead.” 

It wasn’t difficult to see the tenseness in Nick’s shoulders as he braced himself on another chair. You knew full well that Nick wasn’t a cruel person, and that you were being somewhat of a complete and total pain. He had told you, though he did noticeably spare some details, about what had gone down at that lecherous shop. You knew Fuentes was insane, you knew he was dangerous, you knew that he might not even deserve to be saved; but every time that thought came to you, it was followed by a chorus of cruel voices berating you for hardly being different. You hadn’t done anything at the caliber this Dylan fellow had, but survivor’s guilt is one hell of a weight to bear. What made you so much better that you deserved to live above anyone else? Do you have the power to say that someone should die?

You nodded to yourself, answering a question you hadn’t really asked, “Then I’ll go save him.”

Nick did a 180, “What?”

You stood up, adrenaline beginning its harsh journey through your veins, “I’ll do it.” Nick raised his hand as if to add something, but you were quicker, “If he is dead, it'll be a short visit to the shop and back to a safe zone. If he isn’t, it seems worth it to at least try to save one more person.” You slung your weapon onto your back, “Plus, there are surely some supplies around there that might be useful, so it really couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Hopeful fire, the kind that’s just a little too hard to put out, met apprehensive, thawing ice. Nick didn’t say anything, even as he met and held your stare. Although you couldn’t say you knew him well, the way he crossed his arms and grimaced at you was pretty clear. You shut your eyes tight, tight enough to feel the lack of sleep, and dropped your essentials bag on the floor. Nick wasn’t exactly expecting a tight hug, but that was what you gave him. You remained like that for a little while, in spite of the others in the room not being in the mood for any sort of affection. What could you say though? He felt like a big brother to you, and a plain old good man. As he broke the hug, a painful tingling in your back let you know that you feel like an idiot for being so attached to him so quickly, not to mention so affectionate. 

“How about you shoot me a text when you get there?” He suggested, voice fading, a mix of embarrassment and fondness leaking out.

You nodded, feeling just a little too much like a loser to respond at the moment. You traded worried and cringing glances with the people around you, not really wanting to stick around long enough to have to sort anything out. Quickly, you packed up your essential survival gear, including but not limited to: some yummy drinks, a few sandwiches, a lot of bandages, and a cookie you were saving for when you needed it. You once again strapped your handy dandy weapon to your back, making sure it looks cool in the window’s reflection. After you were done preening your feathers so you'd look like an action hero you sneakily made your way outside, avoiding any zombies. You were pretty certain you knew the best way to get to South Almuda, although doing it while you’re constantly thinking about how you’ve messed up might make things a little dicey.

But at least there’s no way you could be humiliated more today than being awkwardly clingy with a near stranger. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize for the dry spell this summer, I guess I just needed a bigger break than I thought or something. Hopefully I’ll be able to establish a good pattern of writing time this semester and then more fics might be posted.
> 
> Also can you tell that besides the fic kinda cinching off here, I wanted to at least post something before classes start? I probably would have let this bake longer if I didn’t know that writing would be hard coming up. Whatever, hope it was still enjoyable.
> 
> 10/28/2019 edit: woah! I did not notice that there was a whole like ending of a sentence missing! I have fixed that. Just an fyi, if you do see any glaring or even petty mistakes, please tell me. I post fanfics with the intention to both write something that I want, to fill a void in the world of fanfictions, to have fun, but also to practice my skills. So, it really helps.


	2. ...The Worst Work is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news: you found Dylan!
> 
> Bad news: you found Dylan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember when I warned that this would be a fic filled with questionable stuff? Here it comes!

Run, hide, run, hide, shoot, hide, bash, run, run, run, run, run, hide. The zombie apocalypse could get a little more… tedious than you might have expected. Yet, also the best workout you had ever gotten; Your legs were fucking ripped, and you don’t mean from scaping them across sharp things repeatedly. Although you had. On multiple parts of your body. Quite a few times. You brought the bandages for a reason.

As you hid behind a car, sweat dripping down from the midday sun, you couldn’t help but take in the scenery around you. The streets were covered in filth—well, more than you’d expect from California anyways—enough to make an environmentalist cry. Shop windows laid barren, cracked, and oddly grimey for only like 4, 5, whatever days without cleaning. Speaking of not cleaning, death and organs cooked on the hot pavement, driving you madder with every breath. The vision of despair was completed by the shambling, festering corpses replacing the people you would be passing by. And still the sun shone down on this city of sin, as if mocking and laughing at the hell unfolding around you.

And that was when you spotted the sex shop. Like a small, pink beacon or something to hope for that also kinda made you heavily disappointed in everyone. _ Annie’s old fashioned XXX Supply _ the sign read, like it was either completely unaware of or in direct opposition to the shambling dead. You wondered, even as some of the living dead began to take notice of you, if it was worth it to go in a shop whose entrance was marked by a woman spreading her legs. Was being eaten alive any worse than entering some random woman’s pussy? 

You bit your lip as you locked eyes with some zombie wearing make-up. She growled at you, spit leaking down her face. You looked at her, then the shop, then her, then the shop again, then back to her. She stepped closer to you, beginning to attract the attention of yet more zombies. You briefly looked back to the shop, biting your lip as you put your eyes back on her. When she began to rush towards you, you sighed very, very deeply, tore the pin off of a grenade, threw it towards the sound of gargling, and sprinted to the shop.

Your back hit the door was nearly louder than the oddly satisfying series of sounds of unholy groaning, an explosion, limbs and viscera hitting the ground, and then silence. Beautiful, beautiful silence. Silence sure did sound a lot like 80’s porn music—where the hell was that coming from. You squinted up towards an old speaker on the wall. Of all the things, of all the things to not run out of power, that was still on? You’d laugh if—who are you kidding you were already giggling. A tiny little sexy ray of sunshine is always welcome in your day, you think. Even the lighting was still kept at a “sexy” low setting. It mostly served as a sense that you weren’t supposed to be there, though. You had to admit, you weren’t sure if the switch from gross, dead-ridden streets to gross, rubbery nightclub is actually an improvement in aesthetic, but here you were. More pictures of scandalous women adorned the walls, and you could almost pretend that it didn’t feel like they were judging you.

After you were done ever so slightly losing your mind, you turned your attention to the rest of the shop. You cackled at the absurd array of items, even as you had to tear your eyes away out of an instinctual embarrassment. Lolidicks, plush penises, stress ball boobies, and every other kind of sexual object you’d never want another human being to see you buying lined the walls. You might need to take the “Orgasm Donor” t-shirt, it would make an excellent addition to your recently depleted wardrobe. It both did and did not surprise you how no one, in all the apocalyptic reverie, took a thing from the sex shop. It looked pretty much fully stocked. Of course, it didn’t have any sort of survival necessary supplies, but still. You might pick something up, actually, you’ve got time. But first, there were more important things to attend to.

What? No, of course not rescuing Dylan, it was selfie time.

You grabbed the plush penis, cause like, duh. Next, you searched for the best background you could find—which happened to be the (get this) kinky cowboy gear. Then you quickly threw on the absurd t-shirt, shucking off your survival gear faster than you could say “get on with it”. You couldn't have laughed harder, honestly. Before you could come to your senses, you opened your phone, turned your back to the leather gear, pressed the plush penis to your face, with the same hand, made a kind of anime-esque peace sign, and finally took the photo. You, of course, sent the photo to Nick… what? He asked you to tell him when you made it there, you were just doing what you were told! You added a little “Made it here safely, and I’m taking more than Dylan back~”.

“Don’t get cocky” lit up your phone a minute later. You decided not to respond to that.

You picked your bag up off the floor, setting it up against one of the shelves. Despite the fact that you probably shouldn’t be able to fit nor should you even stuff a plushie penis into your bag, somehow you fit it in anyways. Teehee, that’s what she said: _ oooohhh yeah baby stuff it innnn _ , you were such a little delinquent. Despite the absolute lack of eyes on you or around you (that weren’t blown out of a skull) you still felt rather shy about properly switching from your grimey old shirt to the only slightly gross sex t-shirt. You go ahead and stuff your other shirt into your bag, too. There was a sudden click in your mind as you realize that there are many, many more silly t-shirts still on the shelves. You _ did _ say that you would bring back more supplies… and clothing was an important supply... As you stuffed your bag full with a bunch of absurd shirts, you can’t help but be grateful that bags can fit so much more than they look like they should. You’ve stuffed like 29 shirts already and there’s still plenty of room for more. Must have been all the pockets. Amazing.

You returned your various survival accessories to your little survivor body, and did a last sweep of the sho-oh shit where’s Dylan. Speed walking through the tiny aisles didn’t give you any sight of the blonde gimp you sent yourself to find. No kinky cowboy gear (on the floor), no blood splatters (that seem new enough), no burn and/or freeze marks anywhere, nothing. You didn’t even hear the moaning of a lost zombie. Just the shitty jazzy porn beats. Behind the counter? No bodies. In the employee area? No bodies. In the office? No bodies. Eerie closed door? N—wait that might actually be something (yet no bodies). You approached the door cautiously, like a hidden cache of dead assholes would just spring out of it. Clearly, it couldn’t lead to the back rooms, you were there, they weren’t very exciting. But maybe it lead to something actually exciting? You hoped so. Good exciting, if the world could be kind to you. You didn’t think it will be, but hope was important.

You shuddered as soon as your hand touched the door handle. You didn’t know if it was a broken air conditioner, or something about the structure of the shop, but somehow the handle was both warm and cool at the same time. As if someone had held it not too long ago, but just long enough that you couldn’t detect them. Well, besides the door handle. But that was assuming that someone did enter recently, and what was the likelihood of that? Wait, couldn’t that mean there could be a fire behind the door? Shouldn’t you have been running away or stopping, dropping, and rolling? You looked behind you and considered leaving, but you did kind of make a fuss about saving him so it would be rude to leave at this point. Screw it, you were going in.

You turned the handle slower than a horror protagonist about to come across a jumpscare in a mislead attempt to avoid any jumpscares entirely. Your arm was completely stiff—some kind of protection against spooky shit—so you were more or less forced to shuffle to get the door open. A jolt made its through your body at the door’s creak, seeming louder than a shotgun blast in the relative, sparkly silence. You clutched at your chest awkwardly with your weapon in hand, which makes yourself more of a threat to your safety than the supposed zombies beyond the door. Which was barely open, by the way, maybe you should make some progress on that. Time was ticking. So was the bomb. That was on its way to kill yoou. And everyone elsssse. Including the person you were trying to saaaaaave.

You took in a large, overzealous tank of breath and burst through the door, screeching out a war cry that sounds mostly like a car backing over a cat. The echoes bouncing off the metal roof and dark floors kept your heart rate up in spite of the lack of hostiles in the room. Just from the shadows you could plainly tell that the room was big, big and fairly empty. Not to say completely empty, if your slowly adjusting eyes were correct, as there were several… sets? in the room. Sci-fi, old west, dungeon, and a three pronged stage that reminded you of something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. But you sure could wrap your hand around it: it was dick shaped. It was fairly cold in the room too, like not even a small amount of sunlight could penetrate the dark space.

The room, now free from your battle cry, was free to impress upon you a dizzying, hypnotizing kind of atmosphere. Something about the lights, the sets, the chill—something was throwing you off. Perhaps it was the stark contrast to the constantly moving, decrepit state of the city, with how (much more) organized it was. Maybe it was the scent in the air: the musty odor of the old sets, an odd hint of gas fumes, the metallic scent of the metal building, and likely the rusty odor of the dried blood on the floor. It could even be the unsettling mixture of a place fortified against the undead, yet imbued with a sharp sense of tense urgency that made you want to escape as soon as possible.

Once your heart beat slowed to the point where you could think, you noticed something, ”Wait a minute… is this a porn set…?” The things that you originally assumed where supports for the roof were very clearly embedded in the stage, with an ending that your now adjusted eyes could actually see was not attached to the ceiling. The chair sitting in the sci-fi set had cuffs with some pink cushions embedded in them. And you could swear that you can see faint stains of something white on a few places. 

You let out a debilitating, full belly laugh, “A porn set! The guy I’m looking for is in a freaking porn set! I’m! In a porn set!” You began to cackle, but then you very suddenly remembered all about the concept of a porn set and all that comes with it. You jumped up onto the three leafed stage with a shriek, “I’M IN A PORN SET!” Your eyes flickered around the room, looking closely at every possible stain or smear. God only knows how much cum is hidden in this very room.

Hey, wait a minute…

Although most of your blood was going straight to your cheeks, ears, and neck, just enough made it to your brain to really put some thought into what you were seeing. Well, more thought than you had put in. You did spy some dried blood from the fight, splattered around the stage. There were burn marks in the glossy wood, licks of black ash peppered the world around you. You could even make out scrapes and cracks in the floor, although you didn’t dare to guess where those all came from. Pretty much everything you could remember Nick telling you about from the fight was there.

Except for the body.

You hadn’t been able to make a perfect mind map of the place from Nick’s adrenaline fueled explanation of his time there, but you’re pretty sure he mentioned Dylan’s seemingly lifeless corpse being on the stage. If you weren't paying attention, you could look again: there ain’t no body lying anywhere. A heavy lump began to form in your stomach as you tip-toed around the stage. There weren’t any doors leading anywhere else either, and you had already surveyed the rest of the shop. Did he… leave? Before you could get there? Had he joined the waking dead? 

Before the knot tying itself in your guts could destroy your internal organs, you noticed an elevator off to the side of the room. Ah ha! A perfectly possible place that this pink prick could have popped off to! It wasn’t like he could have left or something, nope! Has to be the old timey elevator! Better hope they never filmed any questionable scenes in there. All too quickly, you jumped off of the stage and—

A snap sent a shriek from your lips as you landed just wrong enough on your ankle. You stumbled on the floor, landing hard on one knee while you clutched at rapidly heating area. Someone has got to be kidding you, this had to be a joke. You just sprinted like a 5k while being chased by the undead, stopped to fight some of them, and your body behaved just fucking fine. But oh no, NOW suddenly your body cared about bullshit like whether or not you landed right? If you didn’t know any better, you’d have to say that this seems scripted. Like someone was making it happen for some contrived, plot-related reason.

You almost didn’t notice the hairs on the back of your neck stand up through your pained frustration, but lately you’ve been jumpier than a trampoline, so it wasn’t too hard. Giggling, you could hear giggling. Dark, heavy, giggling. Despite the pain, you shot up, jerking your body in the direction of the noise. Once again, too fast: you thought your neck just cracked in a bad way. You know, the one where it suddenly felt pretty hot? And it almost felt like you've snapped your own neck? Yeah. Like that.

A man sucked a breath in through his teeth, “Ahh~ now that was go~od.” You craned your neck up, to where it sounded like his voice is coming from. “You scream so good,” he moaned out in a rumble, “I love ‘em loud.”

All you could manage out was a sort of appalled, yet hopeful grunt. The man was leaning over a railing up above, a place your eyes hadn’t had a chance to wander yet. From what you could see, he had rather crazy blonde hair, wore some kind of pink cowboy hat, appeared to be wearing gloves, seemed to be bare-chested, and yet wore something across his torso that shined in a few different spots. Honestly you weren’t even sure about any of that, as a spotlight was obscuring most of the figure. His voice though… it was kinda attractive, yet… you didn't know. Something you couldn’t place that just seemed a little… off. Was… was this thing Dylan? As you mind tried to parse whether you were happy or upset from this development, he chose to open his mouth again. 

“Ok, ok,” he slapped the railing a few times, “now, sit in one of those chairs—no need to remove any clothing yet, that’ll come off on its own.” It wasn’t hard to notice the excited reverberations in his voice, the way it pitched itself higher as he spoke. The strangeness you detected grew louder in your mind. Washes of disgust began to coat your innards, even as a light warmth began in your hips.

“Eh?” Your grunt turned questioning, yet with an intonation of “huh”. His idle movements became more agitated as his command went unanswered, so you decided to just come out with it, “Are—Would you happen to be a Dylan Fuentes?” It occurred to you that even if it wasn’t the guy you were looking for, you should still try to save him regardless. Wow, you felt selfish for looking to save one particular guy. The human mind sucked.

He seemed startled for a moment, but quickly laughed it off, “Aww! A playmate that already knows me! But I don’t recognize you.” You could only assume that he ignored the way you flinched at his words, “have you met one of my other pets?” His voice suddenly took on a harsh growl, with a fitting animalistic possessiveness, “Where ARE they?! Don’t they know who OWNS them?”

Subconsciously, you backed up, “Erm—I’ve never met any… pets, of yours. I did meet a Nick? He told me about you.” Was it better to throw Nick under the bus than the previous victims? You weren’t entirely sure, but neither probably would have been better.

“Goddammit!” Dylan grabbed the pole and slid down faster than you could properly process it, the sound of spurs echoing around the room. “Disobedient little shits!” He cracked a pink (Hello Kitty?) bat against the ground, “And that fucking greasy _ cocksucker _!” Dylan paced on the stage, dragging his bat very purposefully, “Oh, I’ve never met such a disrespectful slut in my life! When I get ahold of him I’ll—gghhhhhnn!”

In the light of the stage, his full getup shone like a bright, embarrassing beacon. Most of a gimp mask covered the lower portion of his face, with only his teeth and mouth being visible past a zipper. The cowboy theme continued with a pair of assless chaps and some bright pink cowboy boots. The shiny stuff on his chest turned out to be criss-crossing leather straps filled with spikes, which matched his large collar. The man was wearing some kind of patterned underwear that reminded you of that handkerchief cowboys wore around their necks. To top it off, he had this sort of leather jockstrap just covered in spikes. To your credit, you did suppress a very loud chuckle fit, although staring at him with your head tilted, mouth partially agape while lightly sneering, and giving him the old “I’ve either seen you before or I literally don’t know what to make of you” look (and, spoiler, you haven’t seen him before) probably wasn’t the best way to introduce yourself.

Even as he muttered to himself under his breath, you couldn’t find a way to look away. A gimpy trainwreck, Dylan was more hypnotic than the set had been. Something about him, maybe the way he talked, the way he looked, or the way he carried himself was… completely and utterly appalling. You felt damn near sick just looking at him. You knew what he had done here, or at least the prospects. He was just so perverted, not only in the obvious manner, but perverted from normalcy in a way unsettled you. The way the madman dresssed himself didn’t help either: spurring far too many memories of hardcore BDSM porn that just went too far and left you feeling sick. That was what he was, wasn’t he? Some sort of representation of the sickened, disturbed part of humanity. Something that drew you in, to corrupt you down to your core even in the wake of your revulsion.

Unfortunately, he also was kinda hot.

You figured it had probably been long enough for Dylan to get his little tantrum over with, might as well move onto the main event, “Uh, that… sucks.” It couldn’t hurt your cause to at least humor the guy, could—oh god now he’s looking at you. That grip on his bat didn’t seem to be getting any lighter. He turned his body towards you, his posture a kinky, old-western standoff. He looked genuinely shocked, and you weren’t sure if that was because you agreed with him, or if he had forgotten you were where. God, this silence was awkward. “Oh, you know,” you said like a question was asked, “getting beat up is never fun, at all.”

Dylan hummed as he took a few steps towards you, ”Yes! Yes, yes!” He paused for a moment, a grin on his face, “Well… sometimes it’s _ damn _ fun.” He chuckled in a natural, yet sleazy pitch.

“Oh… ha ha! I’m sure! Ha ha!” You took a few steps back. You didn’t like where this was going, time to change topics really fucking fast, “You know what’s not damn fun?” You didn’t wait for him to respond, “Getting blown! Up! By a bomb! Which is going to happen! In a few days!” Your pitch reached such high levels it could be mistaken for a squeaky door.

Dylan stopped in his predatory approach, locking his eyes with yours, “Blown… up?” He really let that “p” pop. Your arousal really liked that for some demented reason. 

You nodded frantically, “Yes! With a bomb! It’s a government conspiracy! Or something.” Your voice took on an almost salesman kind of intonation, “If we don’t leave, we’ll certainly be dead! And it doesn’t seem like you’re the kind of guy who likes being dead! At all!” You whirled your arm towards the door in a showy manner, “So! Let’s go! There are other survivors too! We have supplies and such and we can always use an extra pair of hands to gather more!” Your heart beat in your ears, filling the room in the ensuing silence.

Dylan looked towards the set, narrowing his eyes, “The whole city, huh?”

Tension immediately released, “Yes, but we should still have time to make it out of here.”

He stood in the same place for a long while, looking languidly around the room. After what felt like centuries, he looked back to you. There was no doubt that hiding one’s face makes it much harder to read expressions, but his was pretty clear. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted, tenseness in the shoulders: he did seem to grasp the situation. Which was good, as with his description you didn’t have a lot of faith that he would even be able to. What wasn’t quite so good is that he appeared to be cracking a smile. That was not quite the reaction that you’d hope for given the circumstances. Quite the opposite really. The man looked more hungry than anything.

Dylan leaned forward on his bat with both hands, “Seems like I should give this place a grand send off.” At your face twisting into confusion, he clarified, “It would be such a shame to let this place’s last event be so… unfulfilling.” Oh wow, you _ really _ didn’t like where this was going. You could feel your blood pressure go straight up. 

You raised up a questioning hand, “You… you heard that this city is blowing up, right? We’re clear on that bit?”

It’s around now you noticed that his demeanor had drastically changed. There was still a strong hint of desperation, of energy needing to be released, but something had shifted. The tension was still there, but he was visibly relaxing more and more. His voice was less strained, his posture more fluid; you’d almost mistake him for someone else if you were short on memory. You almost feared what could have caused this sudden shift. Could he have been assured by your neuroticism? Or did he enjoy the idea of the city blowing up? The choices were both pretty fucking bad.

“Oh yes,” he said, swaying left and right as he kept his gaze on you, “I heard.”

“So… uh… what’s the hold up?”

He sighed, amused and tired, “I hope you’re better at following orders than you are at listening.”

“Wh...what?”

He clicked his tongue in scolding, “I told you that this place needs a grand send-off, I can’t leave before that.”

“Well then, you should do that, there really isn’t any time to spare.” 

The room suddenly shifted, or at least that’s the first explanation your brain offers for the sensation of blurring you just got slammed with. Your guts were heavy even as your head felt light. Everything was spinning, like you were suddenly taking a trip in a blimp. You were dizzy, woozy, off balance. The walls closed in around you, trapping you in that porn set. A voice whispered that you’ve just sealed your fate, sent yourself on a course you could no longer stop. You have a feeling you just made a mistake. Or maybe these were the effects of sleep deprivation. 

Dylan cackled, swinging his bat side to side, “I’m glad we’re on the same page!” He planted it into the ground and gestures towards himself, “So come here.”

Did he just growl? 

“I-What?” heat began to travel into your cheeks. Your stance was more defensive than ever.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.” He hoisted his bat up to his shoulder and sauntered towards you, “Ever since my pets left, I’ve been feeling _ so _alone.”

“Th-there are plenty of other survivors, I can show them to you.” Oh… that hurt to say, you were definitely not going to forgive yourself for that shit.

“Oh, but I don’t want just _ anyone _, I do have standards.”

“For… for what?”

“Oh, I think you know.” He was getting far too close to you.

You backed up more, sweat forming on your brow, “uhm, look man, we really don’t have that kind of time.”

Dylan grinned at you, closing the gap, “How long then?”

You checked your phone, “about 3 days, why?” You looked up, Dylan within a few feet of you now. 

“That’s plenty of time.”

Your back hit the wall, sending a tremor through your shaking body, “Plenty of time?” You squeaked not unlike a mouse.

He sucked in a breath, letting it out like a gas leak, “Plenty of time to teach you some manners.”

“What?” With only a little too much force, Dylan placed a gloved hand right beside your head. 

As your heart danced, you looked back at the unstable man in front of you. For the first time, you saw his teeth in their full glory: spiked like that of a piranha. It also occurred to you that he must have one gargantuan mouth to be able to have hardly any lips showing through the zipper of his mask. It looked downright inhuman if you gave it enough thought. He had his bat slung over one shoulder, looking almost casual if not for the way he was constantly adjusting it. His head was tilted down at you, his eyes unable to stay in the same spot for longer than 5 seconds. His torso was slightly bent, while his shallow breathing kept it mobile.

“I’m not going anywhere until you start doing what I tell you.” His face got ever closer as he breathed out, “bitch.”

You flinched and raised one arm up in self defense. One arm wasn’t a great defense, but it did seem to send a message. Through one cracked eye you could see him straighten up. He seemed to eye his bat, and then looked to the weapon peeking out from your back. He sighed, although it ended in more of a pissed off grunt. Not a single one of your defenses was dropped at the sound of his bat clattering senselessly to the floor. He waited for a bit for you to… you didn’t know, relax? When you didn’t, the fucking madman actually _ roars _(although it was short) in this awful, clearing-your-throat way. You shut your eyes right as his hand slammed against the wall to the other side of your head. 

“Is it too much to ask to get a little action around here?!”

“I don’t even know you!” You squeaked, more of a squeal now.

“You will,” he raised your chin up with one shaking finger, betraying his attempt at stoicism, “you’re going to know your master better than you know yourself.”

You let your eyes open, open enough to gaze into Dylan’s green eyes (technically eye). He was _ desperate _, practically starving for all the crazed acts that can really only go down in a place like this. His teeth gritted together, hissing out air just a little too fast for your liking. He swallowed as he searched your face, and you mimicked the action without thinking. He was clearly out of it, clearly lost the plot at some point. There’s no other explanation for… him. Your heart thumped against your rib cage, blasting heat to every part of your body. Even you had to admit, he was painting a… tempting picture. You really didn’t want him to be, you’d love to be completely repulsed right now. But unfortunately, he was making that pretty hard. How could you not be tempted when his lusts were pointed right at you?

His finger turned into his hand, which slid back to capture your throat in several choppy motions. You gasped, expecting no air to reach your throat, but you weren’t left wanting for more. His breathing hitched at the way your face contorted into panic—him having seen that backing of excitement too many times to miss it. His other hand moved down, now ghosting along the line to your hip. You let his leg slip between yours, even shuffling wider so he could press into you. You couldn’t tell what you were doing, or why you were doing it. Something inside you just moved where you feared to go. Your body shook in a cocktail of anticipation and terror, and Dylan was drinking it right up.

You turned your head away (as much as you could with his fingers around your throat), sobbing out, “Please don’t hurt me…!”

A small laugh fanned his hot breath over your face, “Don’t worry, it’s going to hurt so~ good~.”

All at once you remembered all of what Nick let slip about this guy. The violence, the victims, the agony: everything. It was far too easy to imagine him bearing down at you, your blood staining his bat. Your body would be battered, bruised, and abused, covered in bleeding bitemarks and fluids you never asked for. You wouldn’t be able to get away, you’d be stuck there forever—at least until the bombs dropped. Which _ would _be your forever. You didn’t know how you ended up with your weapon in your hands, it pointed directly at Dylan’s head. You weren’t sure how he got his bat back. You weren’t even sure how you managed to push him a few feet from the wall, or how you were still pushing him back through wordless threats alone.

You weren’t quite sure if you have any actual chance at winning a potential fight, but your dumb dumb animal brain wasn’t letting you consider that right now, “I am **not** becoming another goddamn victim.” Somewhere, your logical brain (who isn’t getting much of a say right now) flinched at the steel in your voice. You couldn’t remember a time you heard yourself this certain, or this vicious. Your logical brain, too, noticed how edged Dylan became at your words.

“You think THAT’S what this is?!” Dylan balked, pointing his bat at you, “You… you damn well think-!”

Once again, your thinking mind disconnected from your body, though it screamed at you as you rushed forward to meet him. It could only watch in abject horror as you slashed/shot/swung at Dylan far too quickly for its liking. In all respects, you weren’t a very good fighter. There was a reason you needed to be saved in the first place. Yet this time, you hit your mark dead on. Your vision was too blurry to properly tell what happened, but you knew that it was fatal. Time slowed down as he stumbled back, his pained cry echoing in your head over and over and fucking over. Your vision blurred completely, your knees getting weak and wobbly. You found your arms hanging at your sides limply, your weapon just barely still clutched in your weakening grip.

You just… killed him. You just fucking killed him. He didn’t even _ do _ anything yet. You just freaked the fuck out. And now he was dead. He was dead and it’s your fau-

Why was he laughing.

As the panic took over, your tears dried themselves so fast your eyes hurt. He was still standing up, looking as if you merely punched him instead of giving him any sort of wound. One hand was clutching where you presumed you must have gotten him, but no blood came out. His laugh was such a dry, crackling sound. Chilling you to your bones like a cold wind on a fall day. It was then that you cursed your luck. There were two types of people in the world, in a way: those that died after a bowl of well placed bullets, and those who wouldn’t die to anything less than a small army. It looks like Dylan was the latter. Spoiler alert: you weren’t.

In the words of some internet person: YOU DONE FUCKED UP, SON.

Panic stirred deep in your gut as he spoke with a grimey cackle, “You… you-hoo-hoo-hoo.” Your mouth found no words from your mind as he looked up with you with an expression you didn’t want to place. “I was going to go easy on you,” he sucked in a breath as he spoke, “but you _ clearly _ need some discipline.”

Somehow, you found the strength to raise your weapon once more, “I’m not going down without a fight,” you stuttered out. You were shaking, barely keeping a proper grip on your weapon, but you damn well meant it.

Dylan growled yet again, slamming his bat into the floor in a rage, “Oh come on… I _ need _ this!” He pointed his bat at you, arm outstretched like he was trying to make a point, “And I can tell you _ want _ it too! You can’t fucking hide it from me!” Changing his tone of voice—again—into a mocking one, “Your master knows you too well!”

“I don’t _ want _ to die here!” You cried out, bracing yourself for the worst, “I don’t wanna end up broken, and hurt, and some kind of… of… victim! I want to go home!”

Before you could start fully crying about wanting to go home, Dylan was bearing down upon you, snarling like a dog, “There you go a-fucking-gain! I don’t _ want _ a victim—I want a slave! I want someone to fuck!”

“That’s really not that different!”

Dylan took a deep, deep breath, dropping his weapon and grabbing onto your shoulders just a little too firmly, “You. Are making. This. Far too difficult.” His eye was digging deep into you, searching through your soul, “All I want is a little fun, and I know you’re _ craving _it too.” Despite your panic, you blushed, as he’s not necessarily wrong... 

“How about… how about a deal?” you tried, blood pumping out your words before you can parse them.

His eye lit up, his grip getting tighter, “Oh?” He seemed to be actually considering it, thank God.

“I’ll… be your…,” pre-regret burned your throat, “_ slave _ , if you promise me that you’ll leave with me.” He stared at you incredulously, before a wide and bone-chilling smile made its way across his face. It was an… unfavorable bid, but you were sorta going on devil/fairy/genie logic and more or less guaranteeing with the deal that you’ll actually survive this. Maybe. “I’ll do whatever you want, but-but you have to _ promise _ me that I’ll leave in one piece.” You poked your weapon towards him, your threat obvious, “or else.” Damn, look at you, making a deal with a devil like a boss. You could only imagine how badass you look right now, probably fierce as hell.

As if to spite your coolness, Dylan cupped your head in his gloved hand, breathing unevenly, “I wouldn’t _ dream _ of doing anything to hurt you.” He giggled quietly, “Well, not too badly.”

You couldn’t believe you’re saying this, even in your own head. But… something about the way he was holding you—his other hand was still gripping your shoulder hard—was almost comforting. Because of the fact that he was, you know, him, the thought makes you feel sick with yourself. But what could you do? He was obviously someone you didn’t want to tango with, too well versed in violence and cruelty for you to match up to. You couldn’t help but wonder though, distantly, if he had only agreed because Nick knocked his pride by beating him half to death. You might not have been an emotion guru, but you could tell that along with his dreadful lust he was scared. That made this feel at least kind of worth it.

You making this deal had nothing to do with the fact that a small part of you wanted what he was offering, or that fantasies you only had in the dark had a chance to come true. It wasn’t like you had wanted someone to call the shots for you ever since this whole outbreak began. Or as if you had enjoyed some of the BDSM type porn you had found over the years. This was purely so you could save him. Absolutely, definitely, positively.

_ It’S nOt LiKe We LiKe HiM _, your brain oh so helpfully mocked. You told it to shut it.

Dylan sighed blissfully, moving his hands down your body, “I’m going to do so much to you, my little slut.” You shuddered, and he cooed at you, “Don’t you worry… we’re going to have so. Much. Fun together. You know you can trust me.”

_ The only thing I trust of you is for you to break mine _ , you thought gloomily to yourself. _ But if we don’t already trust him, there’s nothing for him to break! So we’re actually safe _, your mind corrected. Thanks, brain. That made it so much better.

His teeth scraped together, “But I can’t possibly have my slave thinking they can hit me whenever they want.” (Did that mean he occasionally wanted to be hit? He just kept getting kinkier, didn’t he.) “You need a solid... punishment,” his breath hissed across your face, sending a shiver down your spine... Although you were shivering for several reasons.

“What would that be?” you managed through shaking courage.

His teeth caught one of the spotlights, “I think you need a good whipping.”

Could you have regrets for $1000? Thank you. What is: this situation. Immediately your body went back into flight or fight mode, and you ripped yourself away. He snarled at the loss of contact, grabbing you back into him. His spikes dug into your skin, not anywhere near sharp enough to pierce but annoying enough to… be annoying. You could already see the weird bruise marks you were going to have like all over your body. You would not be able to explain to your doctor what the hell happened to you; you were going to have to tell him that it was some crazy shit from like… you didn’t know, falling down on a bed of spikes? Some kind of badass encounter with a person with very oddly shaped fists?

“Woah woah woah! We had a deal!” you kept your hands off of him, even attempting to lean back so you didn’t have to touch him. Which was, as stated previously, nearly impossible due to him pushing you into him.

He leaned into your lean, holding you like a lover with no idea of body language, “Yes, you’re going to by my obedient, sexy slave~.”

“That’s debatable,” you mumbled under your breath, “what I mean is, we agreed that I’m going to leave here in one piece. One not-broken piece”

He blinked at you, and you know he thinks you’re stupid, “A whip can’t break you into pieces. It’ll break you, sure, but not into pieces.” He traced provocative lines over your exposed collar bone, “Really, you were already roughed up when you got here, can baby not handle a little pain?” Your mind appealed that if he didn’t want to get punched he wouldn’t use that mocking, babying voice. You denied the movement.

“But I… I’ve never done something like that!” _ And I’d rather not start with you _.

He shivered, his hips pressing into yours briefly, “Oh, you’re in for a treat~.” Why did you even open your mouth? Now he looked more pleased than ever. Honestly? You hope gags are going to be involved: you’d rather not talk your way into something like this again. He pointed to the stage, “I can’t stand the wait anymore,” he informed you with excitement rolling off of him in waves, “get undressed, and kneel for me.”

_ Oh my God is this actually happening? _ Your body shuddered, and you shut your eyes so you don’t have to see his reaction. You honestly couldn’t tell if it was his blatant attraction (attraction might be the wrong word, it’s more like unending horniness) or if you were actually into this, but your body is not giving (much) of a protest. Heat pooled in your groin, and your face felt so hot you’d mistake it for a fever if the truth wasn’t obvious. You were still fucking terified though, don’t worry—you haven’t completely lost your mind (yet). But he was right there, in all his horrid, sexy glory, offering you something so tantalizing, if not dangerous to your health.

And you didn’t exactly have a choice, so you might as well take it.

You simply couldn’t bring yourself to look at Dylan as you meandered towards the stage. There was no need to look at him: his eyes burned into your backside too obviously to need a confirmation. The scene was about as sexy as it could be: your quick heart and gentle foot falls being drowned out by his over-the-top panting, the cold air seeming to steam off of his flesh, and you moving as slowly as humanly possible. Truly, Dylan was a master of foreplay. You know, given how out of it he already seems, you wondered how long he’s ever even made it with foreplay: like, has it just made him cum right then and there? That’ll make things simpler for you. 

Despite how slowly you walked over, you still inevitably made it to the stage. Your skin bounced from tingling in anticipation of what was coming to trying to numb itself in preparation. Skin probably couldn’t do that, but damn was yours trying. It would probably be best to just get this over with, just get it out of the way so you could get out of here. That didn’t seem to be making your limbs move though. In fact it seemed to be doing quite the opposite. Hm, how odd that was. How very odd indeed. It was almost as if you were stalling. But come on, you wouldn’t do that.

Something cracked as Dylan growls, “Come on! I don’t have all day! Show me your flesh!”

You couldn’t tell if your pants felt a little wet because you were excited or because you just pissed yourself. You turned back to him just in time to see him cracking his whip again. There was absolutely no surprise that it was a bright, annoying magenta, but you didn’t even hear him get it. Did he just have that on him? What a freak. In the bright spotlights, you could see him pitching a tent even from over here. He fondled the whip, switching it between his hands rapidly. You turned back around, sweat forming on every single part of you, and began to remove your shirt.

There was another crack, “What are you doing?! Face me!” His voice was shrill, and pretty obviously desperate, “Strip for me!” The way he was speaking reminded you of a child throwing a tantrum. 

“I’ve uh… I’ve never really done that for anyone—”

“I don’t care! Just do it!” once again, he cracked his whip.

“But like I don’t know how—”

“Haven’t you ever watched porn before?!” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Just…” His voice dipped lower, more sensual (and much less strained), “Take your clothes off, slowly, for me.”

You thought that Dylan should go into the business of selling used cars, because somehow you were already taking off your clothes. Of course, you weren’t entirely certain what to do, so you simply removed your shirt as slowly as you could. The moment he saw your stomach (yes, just your stomach) he let out a quiet moan. That wasn’t even mentioning the noise he made at seeing your chest exposed. You made eye contact with him when it finally comes off, far closer than he was before. Did you jump a little? Yes, yes you did. Heat sat behind his eyes, lust like you’ve never seen before. It was flattering, if not a little worrying. The shirt fell onto the floor, immediately out of your mind when it left your hand. 

Maintaining Dylan’s intense level of eye contact would cause you to spontaneously combust, so you shyly looked to the side as you slid your worn hands down your front. You’ve never felt so wanted, although what he wanted may not have been… optimal, it was still intoxicating. Giving your nipples a little tease rewarded you with Dylan’s caught breath. Your hands drifted down almost automatically towards your belt, looking for something besides your clothing. 

Even as you played with the buckle, your eyes were fixed on Dylan. He was sweating pretty badly, his skin getting slicker by the minute. It was a bit too big of an ask to not admire his frame: lithe yet muscular, boney yet smooth, and powerful yet approachable. Your hands slip down past your waistline as images of his strong arms wrapped around you, and his tasty hips rutting into yours. You really couldn’t look away from the “V” disappearing into his briefs, blonde hairs decorating the tempting span of skin. You whimpered softly as your hands got a little too low and brushed past your crotch.

Dylan took a hastey breath in, holding it as he stared at you. You shook your hips to draw your pants off, which wasn’t because you’re trying to get a little extra friction. His hands tighten around his chosen weapon of punishment when your pants hit the ground. All that was left was your underwear which you were certainly straining past their intended use. You supposed that was a good reason to take them off, no? You let yourself take a deep breath, and let them drop.

The silence that followed was far too long, in your opinion. Now more than ever, you couldn’t bring your eyes to his. You didn’t exactly think you’re a model, and the fact that he was still eating you up was something you frankly didn’t know how to react to. So, you stood there, frozen in place with your muscles all stiff. With every single step towards you your body twitched, unwilling to see its impending demise. One of his gloved hands cupped your chest, shocking you out of your fearful stuper—but not quite enough to make you open your eyes.

As his hand poked and prodded at your body, he breathed out, “Mmm… soft… Supple.” His hand ran down to your stomach, “Well fed.” You weren’t sure where his whip went, but his other hand is now joining the fray and rubbing your hips, “So ready~.” One hand came close to cupping your crotch, but it squeezed your thighs instead, “Nice and thick.” He walked around behind you, patting your backside just a little too hard, “Firm.”

“What are you doing?” You stuttered out quietly, trying not to think about how turned on you are.

He hummed softly into your ear, settling himself behind you, “I’ve got to check out the product before I buy~,” running his hands up and down your sensitive, screaming flesh.

“Buy…? Are you going to pay me?”

He made a low, rumbling sound, “It’s—haven’t you heard of roleplay?” His hips gently rubbed into yours (although with the spikey little jockstrap he’s rocking, it’s not so terribly comfortable), “Do I really have to teach you everything?”

“No,” you stuttered again, “I’m… I’m good.”

You gave a little whine as he rubbed your thighs, “I didn’t tell you you could talk, you know.”

“Sorry.”

A hand cupped your mouth tightly, “What did I just say?” He didn’t wait for you to accidentally respond again (you still made a muffled noise though). He clicked his tongue, “What a naughty, naughty slave. No wonder you were being sold for so cheap.” His hand drifted from your mouth, which you take to mean you’re supposed to say something.

You tried not to make your enthusiasm for this too obvious, “I…” You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves (he wasn’t wrong to have said you hadn’t roleplayed before), “I am sorry sir.”

“Master, call me master.”

“Master,” you tried again, lightly flinching at the term, “I am so sorry.”

“You should be,” he breathed against you, resting his face against your neck, “you damn well should be.” 

It’s a while until he came too again, lost in feeling you up and down and up and down and… wow, he was really going at it. It wasn’t like you weren’t enjoying it, of course, his touch was electric in all senses except the literal. You squirmed and wiggled in his grasp, no rhyme or reason for your movements besides a mounting need. With a decent amount of self control, you managed not to move too much. You were still damn well nervous, which was pretty obvious to both of you. You kept your fists tightly balled at your sides, not having quite enough experience to know what you were supposed to be doing.

“Right,” Dylan breathed in, “now, lean against my pole.” He knead your hips reverently, “You _ need _ a good punishment.”

He stepped back from you and you nearly fell like a fucking chump. You caught yourself before you could make a fool of yourself in front of someone who couldn’t care less. God, how awful would that be, right? Stepping out of the pile of clothing you made for yourself, you waddled towards the pole like you’re walking to your (sexy) execution. The wood of the stage is rough and cool against your knees, which you find out in full as you scotch closer to the pole because you kinda undershot the mark. Shaking not unlike a cloth tied to a clothesline in a hard breeze, you gripped the pole and show off your back to Dylan’s prying eye.

You arched harshly as the whip was dragged over your back, “What a good slut... so fucking hungry.”

_ Pretty sure that’s you, buddy _.

A sharp, sudden pain made you cry out, the skin of your back tingling with the unexpected strike. The next one made your skin believe it’s cut, and the next just stung. With every heartbeat the growing number of injuries beat with it, drawing your attention accurately to your damaged skin. A sharp strike between your shoulders made you whine garishly, and you realized with horror that you’re _ enjoying this _. The sensation hurt, without a doubt, but somehow it felt… You didn’t know; you wanted more of it. Shame coursed through your body, and you gave out a slight sob, one whose origin you couldn’t even place. Tears began to flow down your face, the flow interrupted with a shriek by yet another crack of the whip. Even through your crying, you were damn well horny. Like, damn horny.

Before you could ask yourself how you got to this point, a question that there was no possible way you could answer with your current soupy mental state, you heard Dylan let loose this… noise. A long, breathy, loud noise that echoed all around the stage, bouncing like a jelly ass. You looked over your shoulder, only making a pained face from the sensation of your marred flesh. He was stood stuck still, his hands braced on his knees and his chest heaving. There was really no way to tell how his hat was staying on, but you don’t have to worry about it for long, as he slowly lifted his head. You weren’t quite sure what went through his head when he saw your tear stained face, and the problem between your legs, but you did think it’s probably something to do with his penis.

Because he was currently clawing at the pink little bandana that’s holding it back like he was digging a well in the desert.

Your sweaty hands squeaked as you were pulled backwards. Tough, leather gloves gripped your hips and bruised the soft flesh there. Something warm and floppy rubbed up against your backside so suddenly you were surprised he didn’t hurt himself. He grunted sharply, not quite meaning to rub up against you but not quite hating it either. He slammed his hips into yours, forcing his manhood to dip between your thighs and the spikey little jockstrap to scrap across your legs. He roared (with this funny little voice crack) and slapped himself against you again, poking your hole (which you yelp about) but unable to enter you.

”What ever happened to foreplay?!” you wheezed.

“Gah! I’ll do that later, I need you _ now _,” Dylan whines, thrusting himself forward and just barely getting the tip in. 

You gave out a strangled cry as he pulled out and slammed it back in, managing to get another inch in. Dylan screamed in frustration—causing you to balance on your elbows to block out the obnoxious noise. He cursed to himself (not quietly) as he fished something out of his pocket. You couldn’t quite see it, but you could hear him moan through his teeth as he rubbed something slick onto his johnson. Whatever he was holding clattered across the ground as he took fists full of your hips and slammed himself to homebase once again. A shriek left your lips as he pushed himself about halfway there.

“Ohhhhh you’re—aahhhhh,” Dylan said, squishing your hips as he reveled in your heat, “perfect.”

Your mind couldn’t find words to answer back with, focusing too much on the myriad of sensations rushing through your veins. Pain, stretch, fullness, throbbing need, lust, fear… words definitely weren’t something you had time for right now. You were a little busy with a cock shoved up your wahzoo. Call again later, fucker. All you could manage was a choked moan at the over-the-top confession.

Feeling something that he would call merciful, Dylan began to slowly rock himself deeper into you, sparing you from having him knock himself into you with reckless abandon. Yet. He rolled his hips into yours with waves from a windy day at the beach. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a pitched groan at him bumping closer and closer to your sweet spot. You spia it out with a gasp as he bent over, sticking you with his relentless spikes. Zipper-lips pressed into the fresh marks across your back in a crude recollection of a kiss. As much as having little pieces of metal press into a still-healing wound doesn’t help, a part of you that cried at chick flicks appreciated it far more than you were comfortable with.

All you did was reach back around and squeeze a small section of his back—maybe his hip?—and before you knew it, you were suddenly being tossed onto your back. The world spins before you met his one-eyed gaze with pure confusion. His body was turning ever so slightly pink, and very, very sweaty. Drifting your eyes downwards, you finally get to see his little friend, and it’s not so little. The little spikey jockstrap cupped his balls, leading to a revelation about what it was for this whole time.

“So _ that’s _ what it’s for,” you whispered, “I just thought it was for show.”

Either not hearing you or not caring, Dylan pleaded with you, “Touch me. Now.” Demanding as he hissed it, it would take a fool to not hear the desperation in his tone.

“Uh… touch you?”

He ducked down to look you right in the eye, craning his neck so your eyes stay that way, “_ Touch me _.”

With the “uh” you gave when asked a question that you didn’t know the answer to in front of a bunch of people who _ did _ know the answer and are too uptight to share it, you smacked your hands onto his shoulders. After flinching briefly at how loud and awkward that is, you noticed that he’s hot. Not just like well-built hot, but like… hot—he was super heated right now. He gasped and shuddered at your curious hands rubbing his tense muscles. His eyes left yours for a moment, threatening to roll back into his head as he basked in your simple—and you mean simple—touch. Despite the thorns sticking into you, and the whole context of the situation, the moment felt almost serene.

Then he came back to his senses.

He grinned at you with his pointy little teeth, a bead of drool slipping out from his maw down onto your chest. The corners of your mouth dipped down at the slimey sensation, and at the fire in his green little eye. Tension filled the gaps that the serenity left behind, and you found your heart rate increasing. Despite yourself, and your forgotten pride, Dylan rocking his hips into you drew a needy little whine from your lips. He sucked through his teeth, watching you as your hands made their way down his back. You weren’t entirely sure if you were doing this just because he asked, or if you need something to hang onto, but you were still doing it.

A sound you were not even going to try to describe bounded out from your lips as he snapped his hips into yours. Apparently, he got you relaxed enough that you could finally accept him. This did not sit well with you. As you gave a small prayer, for your body and your sanity, Dylan laughed quietly. It was a deeply pleased, fully satisfied kind of laugh. Well, not fully satisfied, otherwise he wouldn’t be still throbbing inside you.

“I always did hear that things feel best when you work for them,” he giggled to himself, enraptured in the sensation.

That was all the warning you get before he went into some kind of sexual overdrive (though you’d reckon that it was his normal speed). He set the beat fast, his hips all but driving into you with each movement. You sang along to his dirty little song, each meeting of your hips accompanied by a light gasp from you. His cock rubbed against all the points inside you: wrong, right, neutral; he didn’t even seem to notice how you’re reacting, too caught up in how you feel. As your song went on, you hated your rump getting poked less and less, instead coming to enjoy the startling sensation.

”Oh ho ho, do you love the metal sticking into your flesh?!” His voice was clipped by the continuous thumping of your hips.

You couldn’t find the words to say “no, it’s actually kinda painful” so you just whined at him. His grin was so unbearable you were distantly surprised that it didn’t melt off from the pissed off heat of your gaze. Wanting to get it off him, you grabbed a hold of his collar and smashed your face into his. Despite this usually being an overstatement for the sake of emphasising the desperation or emotion of the situation, you really did, leading to something that feels like a bruised nose. His rhythm stuttered, presumably from your apparent attack and not because he was close. Although you wouldn’t put it past him.

Somewhere in his tiny, tiny brain, he seemed to understand what you were trying to do. Through a cracked open eye, you saw a flurry of rage, then lust, then comfort(?) pass through his face. He ran his hands up and down your torso as he gratefully twisted his head so he was in a more natural kissing position. Which was about the only natural thing about it. His mouth was so wide and stretched by the mask that you were honestly having trouble getting his lips. It felt more like you were using your lips to wrestle a zipper for your pencil or something. Dare you mention the taste of iron just seeping into your mouth? It tasted like he had been sucking blood. Yet occasionally you got a taste of his lips—they were thin and chapped, but they were moving so hungrily you found yourself trying to match their pace.

As his pace picked up again, you caught yourself making highly embarrassing noises into his zipper mouth. The brief respite only served to further sensitize your body, making you squirm under him just as he hoped you would. As he usually did, Dylan let himself soak the sight of you in despite most of his blood pumping into you. Flushed, sweaty, squirming, he fucking loved it. You were hugging him, carefully, of course, to avoid the leather. He swapped between kneading your tender flesh and digging his fingers in to keep you still. You looked so unbearably vulnerable, all his, all his.

If you hadn’t already lost yourself, now your mind was really slipping away from you. The remaining consciousness you had clung to the pain in your back, exacerbated by the constant rocking against the floor. Yet every time he slammed himself home, pleasure ricocheted across each and every injury like a pulse. Every time Dylan broke the kiss to breath you moaned for him, the pitch going higher and higher minute after minute. Distantly, you wondered how he had lasted this long, since he seemed as if he was ready to come before he even stuck it in you. If you actually cared enough to think about it, you might have figured that he was very well practiced.

A particularly tight knot in your gut proved that you had not. White hot flames danced along your body, making you twitch to and fro in a way that almost looked like a seizure. The fire licked along your loins, making you tense and squeeze him arhythmically. Your mouth moved on its own, breathing out something of a warning. Dylan shrieked over it, coming to a complete stop as he fills you up. Before you can moan about it, your end delayed, interrupted by his frustrating lack of movement. You sobbed at him to do something, anything, although only babbles make their way from your lips. 

After a few moments, his gloved hand stroked you. You hiccuped in time with him. One… two… three…! The world crashed down on you as you came, your mind truly going blank. He chuckled as you came onto him, a sound of smug relief. Reality bit hard at your mind, cutting at the pleasant fantasy of your dramatic finish. Did that make sense? Nothing made sense right now. Not the glove that let your high linger just a little longer, not the noises coming out of your mouth, and not the fully satisfied look in your eye.

As the moments ticked on, you became increasingly aware of just how much sweat the both of you produced. The chilly air broke through your spent mind, although the chills you were feeling aren’t exclusively physical. God, your back fucking hurt. You thought that the amount you had been rubbed into the floor had broken some of the tender skin. Not like it was unexpected, but you smelled like shit. Like sex and sweat and gunpowder in a locker room. And, though it was hard to say, Dylan smelled even worse. 

Dylan cooed at you before he full on licked up the line of tears to your eye. And when he kissed it with way, way, **way** too much affection. You shook slightly, from the rage or disgust, you didn’t know. There went your good mood. Here came the after-orgasm regret. You weren’t racking your brain or anything, but God, you don’t remember why the fuck you agreed to this. This is the last thing you should have made time for. Especially with this guy. You whined as he pulls out of you, his spunk leaking down your flushed skin. Your regret was at an all time high, could it even have gone higher?

Don’t tempt fate like that.

“Damn,” he breathed, stroking himself, “you felt fucking good.”

“Thanks,” you said, voice lacking any sincerity.

With a level of energy that shouldn’t be possible after that kind of session, Dylan sprang up with his bits hanging out. You watched in only slight horror as he bent himself backwards to a degree that would get him on some kind of low budget talent TV show. Dylan let out a breathy moan as his back popped into place, because of course he does. He trotted off somewhere, the spurs on his dumbass boots jingling and jangling as he did. You took that sweet, sweet moment where he wasn’t staring you down to peel yourself off of the stage. Oh yeah, your skin did break in a few places, oh that fffucking stung. Fuck.

As you were working your clothing back onto yourself, Dylan meandered on back. He still had his dick out, completely oblivious to how much you’d like him to put that thing away. Honestly, how could he stand having it rub against that ball-buster thingy? It’s clear he was a freak but… jeez. Insert some witty joke about cock and ball torture here: the joke was Dylan. He seemed to frown as he took in what you were doing. Or maybe it was at the faint lines of blood on the stage. Or possibly the bad mood that had settled down around you. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it **look** like I’m doing?!” You spat, “I’m not going to walk around naked back to the safe zone.”

“Safe zone?” He said dumbly.

“Well—,” crap, _ was _that what it was called? You couldn’t remember, “That’s what I call the place I’ve been camping at. There are other people there too.” You looked back up at him, still with his cock out, but you noticed that he brought a small medical kit with him. Hm… was this an act of kindness? Suspicious.

“Being conscientious of my new playmate is suspicious?” He clicked his tongue at you, apparently having heard the thing you thought you kept to yourself. 

“Gah.” With absolutely no pleasure, you threw your shirt off again and face away from him. There was only so long you were willing to be stubborn before you got stubborn against being stubborn. “Try anything and I’ll leave without you.”

He sighed, either happily at your submission or frustrated from your shitty attitude, you couldn’t say. Dylan fell down to his knees behind you, making you flinch way more than the situation called for. You started on getting your pants back on as he shuffled around in his little medical bag. You spasmed as the stinging alcohol wipe dragged over your reddening skin. Dylan laughed at you, going so far as to make a joke at your expense. Your middle finger told him just how funny you found that. 

“You aren’t thinking of leaving already?” He hummed at you as he stuck bandaids over your (apparently smaller than you had figured) wounds. His voice was back to a deep, rolling pitch.

“You aren’t?” anxiety started in your gut. “You remember what’s going to happen, right? Did you forget?” Oh God you weren’t going to let him trap you here—where did you put your weapon again?

“Forget—oh right!” he cackled, “of course not, baby. I just like to cuddle after, I’m not a kiss and run kind of daddy, you know!”

“Ok, first of all, never call yourself that again.” There went your blood pressure, “and secondly we could just cuddle at camp. Not—not that I _ want _ to, you understand, I’m just being diplomatic.” Your voice cracked as an angry blush spread across your face.

He giggled like a child regarding an ultra cute toy and hugged you, “aw, no need to be so anxious, baby! I’m not going to let you get blown up by that mean old bomb.” He rubbed your shoulders as he remained blissfully ignorant of how unsettling his lack of self-preservation is, “But you told me we have a few days to go! We have time~.”

“We don’t have that much time,” you scolded him.

With his head so close to yours, you could hear him growl, “you disobedient—have you ever done anything like this before?”

Wow, that was an understatement, “Uh…. no?”

“Stand up,” he ordered, stepping away from you.

Unsettled but not entirely sure why, you did as you were told—oh fuck. You were suddenly made of jello during an earthquake. Your knees buckled, your breath went wonky, and you were on a fast return trip to the ground. Great. Just before you got smashed by not only a psycho, sex-crazed, cowboy leather-daddy AND the floor, the leather-daddy caught you. Without any grace, you used him to pull yourself just a bit more up. It didn’t really work, but it is the thought that counts. Having your body malfunction so badly stunned you just enough that you didn’t yell at Dylan when he copped a feel as he pulled you to your feet.

“Aw, little baby doesn’t know how to handle a pounding,” he nuzzled into your cheek.

Well, shit, guess you really wouldn’t be leaving tonight. This was… less than ideal. Nick crossed your mind suddenly, namely the fact that you should have told him that your mission was successful. Although you guess it wasn’t entirely successful: sure, you found him and he agreed to leave with you, but he wasn’t seeming like he was going to. Oh look at that, you were panic-sweating again. How on earth were you supposed to take on zombies like this? Your head felt fuzzy, your body was limp spaghetti, and you had an overly-attached gimp who was not nearly as concerned about his health as he should be clinging onto you like a doll. Your energy levels sunk through the floor, making you lean even harder into Dylan’s embrace.

Dreamyness infected Dylan’s voice, “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.” Dear Lord, the boy almost sounds like he was in love. This didn’t bode well with you. Like most of what he does. Fuck.

After a long moment of you trying to find the strength to resist, you caved, “Fine.” It has been a long day. You ran across Los Perdidos, blew up multiple zombies, hurt your ankle, and got absolutely destroyed. It was probably a reasonable reaction. Didn’t mean you’re happy about it though. 

You only complained a little as Dylan lead you towards an old-fashioned elevator, about what you weren’t even sure at this point: something about how much your back hurt, maybe. He took your whining in stride, used to much, much worse from his previous… “pets”. The elevator rattled as you make your way into it, tugging rudely at your self-esteem. Dylan seemed used to it, stopping to chuckle at the self-deprecation in your eyes. Fucker. Fucking fucker. Fuck you, fucker. He presses a button, causing the old thing to let out the squeakiest, most agonizing noise you had heard yet. 

Dylan rubbed your shoulder, the one he was still holding like you’ve hurt yourself enough to the point where you need someone to act as a balance only he’s the one who did it. You totally, 100% didn’t lean into his touch a little, or get a sense of relaxation as you do. That would be simply absurd. If the sounds of the doors closing wasn’t enough to rustle your jimmies, the shrieking sound the thing produced when it began to travel upwards definitely did. Luckily, it didn’t last long, so the thing _ probably _ wouldn’t send you straight to Hell. Not that it would matter, as you were already in Hell. There was another lovely, ever so darling scream from the lift when you arrived at the top floor. You did go a little higher up than you were expecting, based on the woozy feeling in your skull. Dylan ripped the gate away, ignoring your pained expression, and pulled you out of the cage of bad noises. 

The upstairs to the stage was just a little bit of an improvement, having some black and pink porn-star carpet rather than sad, cold concrete. The lights booth (you know, where they adjust the lights? You don’t know, you can barely remember your own name let alone the name for some obscure piece of theater bullshit.) overlooked the stages, with only a small amount of floor in between it and certain death. There really wasn’t a lot of floor space up here actually, there was a couch over on the wall opposite to the railing, complete with something like a kitchenette, and another room on the other side. You hoped there was a bathroom downstairs you didn’t notice. 

“Is this where you’ve been living?” you asked, a hint of sympathy in your voice.

“Yeah!” he grinned, completely missing your tone, “isn’t it great?”

“Yeah,” you lied. Maybe you’d tell him in the morning, you didn’t know.

“Do you want an animal cracker?” Dylan chirped.

“What.” _ What? _

“That’s good for you when you lose blood! I think,” he excitedly pulled you towards the kitchen, “and you did lose some blood! And don’t think I didn’t notice your other bandages! Aren’t you hungry?” You weren’t sure how, but each sentence he spoke sounded like he had moved onto a completely different topic in a conversation you weren’t hearing.

You planted your legs in the ground, making him stumble a bit, “I am not in the mood to eat.” Collapsing sounded more your speed at the moment. 

He frowned at you, ever vigilant for any perceived disobedience, “You should eat.”

“I need to sleep.”

“You _ should _ eat,” he said tensely.

“I _ need _ to sleep,” you retorted.

He ground his teeth together, but it didn’t last. He relaxed, and came back to you to cuddle into you. Standing up. You did your best to bear his weight, but man, he wasn’t light. 

“Then let’s head into bed~.” You grumbled and unhappily headed towards the couch. Before you could slam your soul down into the stained leather, he stopped you. “Come on now, do you think I’d let you sleep on that?” You did. “Let’s go to bed.”

You allowed him to drag you off towards the mystery room. You were too tired to form any sort of assumptions, but if you could you might have been slightly concerned about there being a bed in a porn set. But alas, your mind was already in that cum-stained, filthy bed, not giving half a shit about how many diseases you could catch. Dylan gleefully opened up a bright, bright room. You took a moment to regain your vision before you realized that the bedroom was absolutely flooded with studio lights.

The walls were a soft pink, the floor was a hotter pink, and the bed was more of a neutral pink. It was all pink. Besides the stupid lights, a vanity sat in the corner, a shelf to the other side, and several pairs of cuffs lined the walls. There was other shit too, but as soon as you saw the bed, that was all your brain could comprehend. Your soul chanted for you to get in the bed, drawing you closer like you were made of metal and the bed was Magneto. You broke out of Dylan’s hold without all the hassle you’d assumed you’d go through as you hobbled to the bed. The bed was surprisingly clean for what went on in it, which you would care about if you weren’t already falling asleep. Dylan sighed as he looked at you meandering into bed, a dreamy, heavenly pleased sort of sound, telling you how happy he was.

You didn’t even hear him finish his sentence before you fell into the bed, your mind falling away even faster.


	3. Them's Fighting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s impolite to ignore a text, but it’s much worse to answer for someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For updates on stories, sneak peaks, and occasionally fanart please check me out at [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, feedback and critique is especially important to me, so if you have any please let me know so I can continue to improve.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.  


It seemed like something that wouldn’t need to be said, but it still stood that the zombie apocalypse was unfair. Or the current zombie outbreak. It’s shitty enough that normal people who hadn’t had any combat experience or knew how to survive difficult situations were suddenly thrust into a world wherein they had to not only survive off of table scraps, but ruthlessly kill the shambling corpses of people they knew. It was enough to drive people mad (oh boy, did Nick know about that) and plenty to send thousands to an untimely death. If you were lucky, you might even be the first to turn.

That wasn’t even mentioning the position that Nick found himself in. Not only was he basically forced to be the impromptu leader of a whole group of survivors, but he was apparently part of some kind of group of super orphans, with himself being the sole cure for the outbreaks. And everyone else in that group were the sources of infection. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was being betrayed and surprised constantly, he had had to kill regular people (ones who were going mental and killing people, but still), and he had to suffer through a bunch of drama he had never signed up for.

And now he had to worry about your dumbass getting killed by a fuck-cowboy.

He was still kicking himself over even letting you go out on your own. He should have demanded you take some other people with you, or suited you up with the best gear he had. Maybe he should have gone with you, after all. But whatever he might have done, all he did was ask you to text him. And you know what? You wanna know what? You didn’t even do that. Sure, you had given him an initial notification that you had arrived there, but that was hours ago, and you had yet to text him again. 

As soon as you had left he had already started worrying about what could happen. It was way, way too easy to do so. Zombies, hunger, sunstroke, an attack, literally anything could have happened. Knowing you had gotten there safely had been a relief, but that didn’t stop him from worrying anyways. His first assumption when he had failed to receive a text was that you were dead and couldn’t say anything ever again. His second inclination was that you had found Dylan dead and just didn’t feel like admitting failure. Also you still could have been dead, still. The third assumption he made was that maybe you had found him, and decided to rush back to a safe zone. Or you were killed, that might have happened too.

Nick would need some serious therapy after this.

That was then, this was now. Now it had been quite a few hours since he heard anything from you. The other survivors hadn’t seen you return, you weren’t anywhere where he would figure you would have scuttled off to, and, again, not a peep on your end. It was truly beginning to drive Nick mad. His companions picked up on his neuroticism, and were accordingly mumbling amongst each other with nervous thoughts on their breath. Of course, it being night time, everyone had to be even more alert, either from the threat of a surprise zombie attack, or perhaps just a basic human instinct.

It had slipped into twilight, the few stars in the sky not doing a thing to help his anxiety. He was still sweating from the heat of the day, but the night brought a welcome chill. He was stressed enough to effectively combat the cool, which didn’t feel like any kind of victory. He was traveling to his next destination, but it felt more like frantic pacing. His legs had long since passed tired and were now more adjacent to lightly mobile stone pillars. There seemed to be faint moaning around every corner, and most of them were zombies. He could almost take his mind off you, and your mangled corpse that whispered in his mind.

Almost.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to know what happened. He signaled for the group to stop so he could pull out his cellphone. They grumbled, and frankly Nick wasn’t enjoying that he had to do this either. But he just… he just couldn’t let someone die because he didn't even try to help. Although it was _technically_ your fault—and now he feels even more guilty. If you were fucking ok over there _he_ would kill you. With a cloudy mind Nick began to write out his messages.

…

Dylan gave out an enamored sigh as he finally slid your underwear all the way off, all without waking you, he’d proudly add. How gentle you looked in your sleep: your otherwise perturbed face forced into a calm, peaceful expression. He loved seeing it, especially since he was the one who got you to sleep so deeply. Although he had to confess that he was truly thrilled to see it twisted in agony and release the next day. Oh, and the noises you would make. You would sing so pretty for him, calling his name and begging for his touch. You would touch him too, stroking and striking and using that soft mouth of yours. And he would give it to you, give it to you until you burst again and again and again. He would get you to scream too, beg him for mercy, and he would get to  _ taste _ your agony. Tomorrow could not come sooner.

He couldn’t see why it couldn’t come early! As he reached for your ass, hoping to cop a feel or two, he was interrupted by a sudden buzz. He let out a frustrated “fah” type of noise, looking around for the irritating interruption. A faint light shone from your pants pocket, before disappearing a moment later. The gimp clicked his tongue irritably, as if chastising the troublesome phone. Dylan was quick to turn his attention back to you, hoping to get back to touching you in your sleep like the creep he was. Your phone rang out again, seemingly louder this time. He jumped off the bed to quiet the damned noise, remembering how much he hated annoying-ass phone sounds.

“Hey, (y/n), how did it go? Did you find him? Where are you?” the screen read, “I’m getting really worried.”

The screen also read “Nick Ramos”. Which was  _ not _ a name Dylan was looking forward to seeing again. Well, maybe he looked forward to getting his revenge in some combination of sexual aggression and absurd violence, but that was besides the point. More to the point: why was he texting you? Dylan faintly recalled you mentioning his name, but he hadn't realized the two of you were working together. The blood that hadn’t settled in his groin boiled from the sheer thought of you being near…  _ him _ . 

But that was a tribulation for another day, now it was time to deal with the current problem. He could always just toss the phone away, let that bastard stew in his fear for taking away so much from Dylan. See if he cared. On the other hand, it did sound like Nick might come looking for you. If he prodded Nick in just the right way… Dylan grinned and giggled to himself as he texted back. Getting two for the price of one sounded like a good deal.

…

The minutes were hours, maybe literally, as the smallest hints of sunlight began to peak out from behind the city’s towers. Nick picked at the corners of his eyes, like that would somehow erase the absolute lack of sleep he was getting recently. He didn’t feel nearly as ruined as he feels he should feel in that department, but shit like this will do funny things to the body. At least that was what he was telling himself so he didn’t have to waste time thinking about it. That didn’t do much, of course, as he was thinking about it now. 

He felt his heart restart when his phone buzzed, and he would have lost it to the grimy streets if he wasn’t so twitchy lately. As quick as he could, Nick brought up the phone screen, relief already flooding him. Oh, he just  _ knew  _ you were—

“Hey slut <3”

Oh… oh no.

“I’ve got to admit, I’m flattered you wanted to come back for me <3, I guess you knew who your master was after all <3. I’m surprised though! With your little ACT back then, I expected you to come to finish the job, not some rando. I guess you’re not as good as you think, huh?”

Nick’s face felt red, his whole head felt far too hot, but this time it wasn’t from second hand embarrassment. “What did you do to them.” He was shaking visibly, small now but it was on a course to grow. He felt sick, and he couldn’t tell if it was with himself or with Dylan. 

“Do you want a list?” 

Nick’s head suddenly felt very light, “You sick bastard. Did you kill them?”

“Unlike you, I don’t feel a great need to kill everyone around me. I prefer my playmates alive, thank you very much,” Dylan giggled quietly at what he was sure would fan Nick’s ire.

“Why can’t they answer?” Nick hadn’t felt this level of protectiveness over anyone before this, but even the foreign feeling was crystal clear in what he had to do.

“They’re taking a well earned rest. Good pets deserve rewards…” Nick had to avert his eyes, as a rather indecent picture of you sleeping came through. Oh God, your back… “As for you, well…” Nick could hear the demented giggling, even from where he was. “I might be willing to look past how you treated me before. I’ll even let you punish me~ how does that sound?”

Nick was starting to see red, he couldn’t deal with this for another second, “Where are you?”

“Right where you left me, baby <3 I’m waiting for you~”

Nick crammed his phone into his pocket, ignoring the less than innocent selfie Dylan decided to send him. He couldn’t bear seeing anything more of him, or you. Not when that monster could do whatever he wanted with you. What the fuck had Nick been thinking? It wouldn’t have been hard to stop there himself, or send some people with you. And now you were… that bastard’s play thing. He swore that he wouldn’t forgive himself until you were safe, and back wherever you had come from. 

Nick began to head off towards South Almuda, but someone stopped him, “We have to get that fuel, man, we’re running out of time!”

Nick ground his teeth together, looking more intimidating than he ever had, “We can get to that later, someone is in mortal danger.”

“But I heard that the people with the stuff are gonna leave soon! We could be stuck here forever!”

Nick quickly dragged a hand down his face, wondering briefly why this person was being so unnecessarily vague. He wanted to tell them to fuck off out of spite, and mainly adrenaline, but they, unfortunately, were making a good point. Dylan… well, he didn't trust him even a little, but the psycho didn’t seem to be upset with you at all. Despite the obvious danger, you were patched up, which is much more than he could say for the other survivors under Dylan’s cruelty. You were crafty, too, which is probably the only reason you had made it as far as you did. If those other people could survive, he was sure you could hold out long enough for him to get to you, even with this mission. Plus, it wouldn’t do either of you any good if in the end they couldn’t escape at all. With the weight on his shoulders steadily getting heavier, Nick nodded to the party and got back on track. He could only hope and pray that you would make it out safe, for both of your sakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the vagueness at the end, I really don't know what exactly happens in what order, so I just... tried. Lol. Hope you enjoyed either way.


End file.
